


Black Bird Fly

by MollyPollyKinz



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Wings, Character Death, Child Abuse, DadSchlatt, Discrimination, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Tommy needs a hug, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, but with a twist, oh look another Dream kidnaps Prince Tommy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyPollyKinz/pseuds/MollyPollyKinz
Summary: “Sure thing, kiddo,” Schlatt told Tubbo. He looked over at Tommy. “You can take your cloak off if you want, kid.”“I’m not a kid,” Tommy said automatically, immediately gripping onto his cloak more tightly.He didn’t want Tubbo to hate him. As much as Tommy hated to admit it, he actually liked Tubbo quite a bit, and if he took the cloak off, Tommy was sure to be cast out immediately.Or, Tommy runs away from Dream, hiding his wings from everyone he knows.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 360
Kudos: 1618
Collections: Completed stories I've read, MCYT Fic Rec





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is indirectly inspired by Val's [Feathered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28521780/chapters/69890196).

Tommy was eleven years old the first time he met Tubbo. They were in the market, standing in front of the fruit stand.

_“You have no friends,” his father would always say, “Nobody wants you.”_

The sun was directly above him, beating down on Tommy’s navy-blue cloak and making his wings uncomfortably hot. Anyone else would’ve shed the cloak. It was summer, after all.

Tommy wasn’t anyone else. The cloak stayed on.

“Hello!” Tubbo had said, though to Tommy he was nothing more than _the short boy_. He was holding a large watermelon in both of his arms, which made him look even more dwarfed in size.

Tommy would rather not be having a conversation with this short boy, but his father had taught him not to be rude. And while a part of him wanted to spit in this short boy’s face for that exact reason, Tommy knew that the short boy probably meant well enough.

“Hi,” he said shortly. He glanced up at the fruit-seller, who was drumming her fingers against the stand impatiently. “How much for the strawberries?”

“Sixteen bronze pieces a pound,” the woman said with a bored expression.

Tommy began scrounging his pockets for the bronze. He should have enough; he had fifty bronze pieces last time he checked.

“Oh, you like strawberries?” the short boy asked, still apparently interested with Tommy. His green wings lifted slightly, probably to cool off from the heat. “I like strawberries too! We grow a whole bunch at our garden, you should see them!”

“That sounds really great,” Tommy said, his tone matching the fruit-seller’s. He handed the fruit-seller the bronze, and she started weighing the strawberries. “Let me just get the strawberries, and I’ll be right with you.”

For some stupid reason, the boy’s face brightened at Tommy’s blatant sarcasm. “Really?”

Tommy sighed, scooping the pound of strawberries into his knapsack, hoping they wouldn’t get squished too much. “No.”

The boy sagged, looking very sad all of a sudden. “Oh,” he said quietly, “Yeah, that’s okay, I understand.”

Tommy sighed again, this time feeling bad for the boy. Maybe it wouldn’t kill him to see this kid’s garden, and then he would be well on his way, traveling from town to town like he always did.

“Fine, I’ll see your garden,” he groaned.

Almost instantly, the boy perked up, smiling widely. “Really?”

Tommy was already regretting this. His wings were feeling itchy underneath his cloak, but he couldn’t afford to take it off out in the open like this. And now he couldn’t even try to make a quick getaway because he had just promised this kid that he would visit his garden.

Maybe he could just take it back.

His father’s voice whispered in the back of his mind, “ _A promise is a promise, Thomas.”_

“Yes,” he said, a little more meekly than he would have preferred. He was always shaken when his father’s words would intrude upon his thoughts like that.

The boy was not at all perturbed by Tommy’s moment of weakness. “Great!” he cheered, “I’m Tubbo by the way, what’s your name?”

_“Thomas.” “Toms.” “Tomathy.”_

“Tommy,” Tommy said after a pause.

If even possible, Tubbo’s grin grew wider at the admission. “Hello, Tommy!” he said. He hefted the large watermelon in his arms up a bit. “I’d shake your hand, but you can see my hands are kind of full—”

“This is not a place for making friends,” the fruit-seller interrupted suddenly, her face riddled with impatience, “If you’re not going to buy anything else, then scram.”

Tommy flinched at the tone. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Tubbo did not seem nearly as upset.

“Come on!” He started walking away. “I’ll show you my garden!”

Tommy sighed. His wings were getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute, but he obediently followed Tubbo.

As they walked, Tommy found himself staring at Tubbo’s wings. When Tubbo walked and moved, the green feathers rippled like a field of grass on a windy day.

Well, maybe Tommy was exaggerating, but he would never forget the first time he saw a field. The way the sun hit the bright green grass, the way the wind made the small blades rustle against each other, the way Tommy could roll around in it without a worry in the world…

And now he was getting distracted.

After the had walked for a bit, Tubbo stopped at the door of a nice-enough looking house. “I need to give Dad the watermelon,” he explained, “Do you want to come inside?”

Tommy hesitated. On one hand, it was probably cooler inside than out in this blistering heat, and maybe he wouldn’t mind his cloak so much. Unless, of course, Tubbo’s father expected him to take it off.

Tommy remembered the first time he leeched on the kindness of strangers. They had expected him to take off his cloak. Apparently, it was a common courtesy. After enough prompting, Tommy obeyed. He was _so hungry_ , and it was clear that these people wouldn’t feed him if he didn’t.

They kicked him out of their house almost instantly after. They didn’t want a _black-born_ risking their children.

Tommy understood. He wouldn’t want a black-born risking his children either. Honestly, it was a miracle his father had kept him around, even if it was for the wrong reasons.

_“Your power is unmitigated.”_

So, Tommy could either go into Tubbo’s house in the hopes of cooling down, or he could stay outside and suffer to avoid the risk of being ostracized again.

Then again, if Tubbo’s father yanked the cloak off and kicked him out, it would give Tommy a good excuse to not wear his cloak for the next couple of hours, which would be amazing on so many levels.

First of all, his wings would no longer be hot and itchy from being forced underneath a cloak during the summer. Second of all, he would actually get a chance to stretch them out a bit, which would be wonderful, because _man_ were they feeling stiff right now.

And besides, he had already gotten enough food from this town, and he was sure he could find some form of work in the next town over, so running wouldn’t be all that problematic if worst came to worst.

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy conceded.

Tubbo beamed. “Could you open the door for me then?” he asked, using his watermelon to gesture toward the door.

Tommy sighed, but he grabbed the hot metal knob and opened the door.

“Thanks!” Tubbo said, sounding chipper.

Tommy followed Tubbo inside the house and felt almost instant relief. The shade was already a huge help compared to the direct sunlight that was trying to inject as much heat into his cloak as possible.

“Dad!” Tubbo called as he walked down the front hall, “I brought that watermelon!”

Tommy followed Tubbo into the kitchen, where a man with blood-red wings was sitting at the table, writing something down and acting as if he didn’t notice two children marching into his kitchen. When they entered, he looked up, smiling.

“Put it on the table, bud,” he told Tubbo, gesturing to the space in front of him.

“Okay.” Tubbo quickly put the watermelon on the table with a loud thump.

Tubbo’s father looked over to Tommy, who winced at the attention. This was it.

To Tommy’s surprise, the smile didn’t leave Tubbo’s father’s face.

“Hey, you a friend of Tubbo’s?”

Technically, no. Tommy had only just met Tubbo, for prime’s sake. Tommy began to shake his head, but Tubbo spoke up suddenly.

“I’m going to show him our garden!” he said, once again sounding strangely excited.

“Okay,” Tubbo’s father said, “Be careful out there.”

Tubbo nodded before grabbing Tommy by the hand. Tommy barely had time to flinch before Tubbo was dragging Tommy out the back door and back into the heat of the sun.

“This is my garden!” Tubbo declared, gesturing to the mess of flowers and crops that was this kid’s backyard. He let go of Tommy as he led him to the flowers.

“These are the flowers.”

“No crap,” Tommy snorted.

Still, he wouldn’t deny that he liked looking at the flowers. There were so many colors, with blues and yellows and reds. Round bugs kept buzzing around, landing on the flowers before taking off again. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure why the bugs were doing that, but it was nice to see regardless.

“I grow roses and irises and daffodils,” Tubbo elaborated, pointing to the red, blue, and yellow flowers in turn.

“What are the bugs doing?” Tommy asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

He tried not to curl in on himself. Father had never liked it when he asked questions, but Sam had always been willing to provide answers. Still, it was dumb of him to test his luck this early on in his and Tubbo’s relationship.

Tommy shook himself mentally. There was no relationship. Tubbo was just a dude. He needed to get a hold of himself.

Tubbo gave him an incredulous look, and Tommy sunk into his cloak a little bit, being careful to make sure his wings stayed covered.

“You mean the bees?” Tubbo asked.

“I mean the buzzing ones,” Tommy replied with a scowl, trying to make it sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, those are the bees. Do you really not know what bees are?”

Tommy, in fact, had no idea what bees were, except that they were apparently round and buzzed a lot, but that was only from watching them just now. Of course, he wasn’t about to let Tubbo know that, so he straightened his back, trying to look very old and knowledgeable.

“Of course, I know what bees are,” he said, “I was just messing with you, man.”

Tubbo looked doubtful. “Okay…” he said slowly. Tubbo glanced back at the flowers. “Well, bees collect pollen and help other plants grow.”

Tommy wanted to ask what pollen was, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I like to think that the bee that always goes to that daffodil is named Spins,” Tubbo said, pointing to the bee sitting on the daffodil.

“But they all look the same,” Tommy pointed out, furrowing his eyebrows. Was Tubbo making things up? Was Tommy just stupid?

Tubbo shrugged. “I know. I just like to pretend.”

Tubbo proceeded to show Tommy the various fruits and vegetables that he grew, and Tommy couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of jealousy toward him. Tommy had to work his butt off just to get enough money to buy just enough food for survival, and here Tubbo was enjoying a constant supply of food all the time.

“How do you even manage to grow this stuff?” Tommy grumbled.

Tubbo straightened, and his wings puffed up slightly. “Oh, well, water, sun, you know.”

Tommy only sort of knew that, but that was completely beside the point. Besides, Tubbo was clearly hiding something. Tommy vaguely wondered if Tubbo’s garden success had something to do with his magic.

Somehow, they managed to hang out for the rest of the afternoon, and Tommy even managed to forget about the discomfort in his wings. Strangely enough, Tubbo was a nice enough dude, and Tommy actually enjoyed spending time with him.

It wouldn’t last. Tommy knew it wouldn’t last; his wings were a constant reminder of that, but it was nice for the time being.

Which is why Tommy actually found himself feeling bummed when Tubbo’s dad called him in for dinner.

“Coming!” Tubbo called, jumping to his feet. He looked down at Tommy, who was quite unsure of what to do with himself. “Do you want to eat with us? Or do you have to get home?”

Tommy immediately scrambled to his feet, his stomach growling. His strawberries should be able to keep for a few days, and who was he to deny a free meal?

“Yeah, I can eat with you, if that’s okay with your father, of course.”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

Tommy wasn’t so sure, but Tubbo knew his father better than Tommy did for obvious reasons, so Tommy would just have to trust him.

Since when had he been so quick to trust strangers? Did Tubbo even count as a stranger anymore?

Hopefully Tubbo’s father would continue ignoring the cloak thing.

They entered the house, and Tommy practically salivated at the smell of something cooking. The sight of the stew sitting on the table only made his stomach growl. When was the last time he had a proper meal like this?

“Hey dad,” Tubbo said, “Can Tommy eat with us?”

Tubbo’s dad smiled and ruffled Tubbo’s hair. Tommy tried not to think of a time when his father would ruffle his hair like that.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tubbo’s dad said. He looked over at Tommy. “You can take your cloak off if you want, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Tommy said automatically, immediately gripping onto his cloak more tightly.

He didn’t want Tubbo to hate him. As much as Tommy hated to admit it, he actually liked Tubbo quite a bit, and if he took the cloak off, Tommy was sure to be cast out immediately.

_“They hate you for your power. They’re frightened of you.”_

Tommy grimaced, trying to get his father’s words out of his head.

Tubbo’s dad raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh,” he said dryly, “How old are you then?”

“Fifteen,” Tommy lied.

“Tommy, you told me you were elven earlier,” Tubbo said calmly.

Tommy’s face heated up, and he glared half-heartedly at Tubbo. “Tubbo, you ruined my cover,” he said.

He gave Tubbo’s dad a nervous look. Tubbo’s dad only laughed.

“I don’t think we ever properly introduced ourselves,” he said, holding his hand out to shake. Tommy took it nervously. “I’m Schlatt. You’re Tommy, right?”

Tommy nodded, his mouth dry.

“So, your parents aren’t waiting for you at home?”

Tommy shook his head quickly. “Um… my father’s on a trip.”

It was technically true. Tommy’s father was always on trips. Now _where_ , Tommy couldn’t even begin to say. It was possible that he was searching for Tommy.

The mere thought made his wings shudder.

Schlatt frowned, and Tommy shrunk in on himself, hoping he didn’t say the wrong thing. But as quickly as it came, the frown smoothed out again, and Schlatt smiled again.

“Well, like I said before, you can take off that cloak, and then we can eat,” he said, walking over to a cabinet in the corner of the kitchen.

Tommy stared at the man’s blood-red wings. He wished he had wings that color. Or even green, or even anything _but_ his color. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so afraid to take off a stupid cloak.

“Um…” Tommy began, clinging onto his cloak so tightly that he could feel his nails from the other side of the fabric, “I would really rather not.”

Tubbo looked confused, and Schlatt turned back to give Tommy a suspicious look. Tommy immediately looked down at the wood floors.

“Okay then,” Schlatt said.

Tommy snapped his head up, looking up at Schlatt in shock. Schlatt only shrugged.

“Listen kid, I’m not here to tell you how to dress,” Schlatt said calmly, “If you want to keep your cloak on so badly, I’m not going to stop you.”

Relief washed over Tommy so heavily that he almost felt like he was about to fall asleep then and there.

“Thank you,” he said.

The room was quiet for a moment, but Tubbo was quick to fill in the silence.

“You can sit next to me!” Tubbo ran over to the seat he clearly wanted Tommy to sit in, his wings flapping slightly behind him.

Tommy followed, smiling slightly. “Okay.”

As they ate, Tommy noticed that Schlatt wasn’t like his father. Tommy’s father was cruel and demanding, but Schlatt was kind and patient. Tommy was glad that Tubbo had a father like him, even if it made Tommy’s heart twinge with jealousy.

He hated the jealousy. It made him feel ridiculous, ungrateful.

But still, jealousy aside, Tommy had a good time eating and laughing and pretending nothing was wrong in the world. Heck, Tommy almost got his father’s words out of his head.

Almost.

 _“You’re a killer, Thomas,”_ he would say, _“People should fear you, not like you.”_

Tommy’s food tasted less good after he remembered that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make a wing fic so I did. 
> 
> The magic system will be explained more in depth later on in the fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadschlatt, nesting, and angsty pasts

“Can Tommy stay for the night?” Tubbo asked almost as soon as they had finished eating.

Tommy’s eyes widened. No. No way. He had _not_ signed up for this. He had signed up for a meal; he had not signed up to _stay the night_.

Staying the night was dangerous on so many levels. What if someone saw is wings while he rolled around? What if a couple of feathers fell out? What if he had a nightmare and woke everyone up? What if he accidently killed someone?

Well, Tommy was pretty sure he had never killed anyone in his sleep, but that was mostly because he had never shared a room with someone before. Was he expected to sleep in the same room as Tubbo? He didn’t want to kill Tubbo.

Even now, he could feel his magic thrum under his veins, begging to be used, begging to destroy anything it touched. To kill, kill, kill.

_“Kill him.”_

“You okay there?” Schlatt asked.

Tommy flinched, but he forced himself to take deep breaths and nod.

Tubbo was frowning, and Tommy curled in on himself. Had he screwed up again? He hadn’t meant to, but he only did seem to be good at causing pain. Maybe he should just go now while he had the chance.

His wings twitched underneath his cloak, and Tommy forced them to stay still.

“You don’t have to stay,” Tubbo said, his wings moving slightly, “I just thought you might be lonely if your father’s away.”

“Tha-thanks,” Tommy whispered, “But, um, I…”

He couldn’t stay. He was too attached as it was. He needed to leave _now,_ before he actually formed proper bonds with these people. Because Tommy was weak when it came to bonds, and he wouldn’t be able to leave, and then his father would find him.

And then Tommy’s father would make him kill both Schlatt _and_ Tubbo

 _“Do you love me, Thomas?”_ his father had said, _“If you love me, kill him. If you love him too much to kill him, then you clearly don’t love me.”_

Tommy couldn’t stay here.

He got to his feet so quickly that his wooden chair toppled over with a loud clatter. His magic surged, and Tommy pushed it back. _No, no, stay away._

“I’m too dangerous,” Tommy whispered, “I need to leave.”

Schlatt raised his eyebrows. “Kid, you’re eleven. I doubt you could be dangerous if you tried.”

Tommy shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t understand. He’ll-I’ll—”

Tommy broke himself off from his own sentence and ran out the door, praying that his cloak didn’t flap too much behind him. He needed to get out. He needed to _leave._

Tommy could barely think straight as he dashed down the path of the town. The sky was a dark gray. It would be night soon. That was good; it meant that Tommy would possibly be able to fly without being seen.

_Black-born, black-born, black-born; unnatural creatures of death; only destined to kill; do you love me, Thomas?_

Tommy couldn’t breathe, but he kept running. His father was going to find him; his father was going to find him; Sam’s sacrifice was going to be in vain; _Sam—_

And suddenly Tommy’s veins _burned._

Tommy let out a cry of pain as he toppled into the dirt path. His magic rushed underneath his skin _begging_ to be released, _begging_ to be used after months of neglect, _begging_ now that the sun was gone and the moon was in.

Tommy’s magic had been wanting this for a while now, but never did Tommy think it would _hurt_ so much. It had been just twinging of pain before, not _this_ feeling like his veins were on fire, like he couldn’t hold on, like he was doomed to _burn into ashes and he’d deserve it for all of the ashes of the people he had killed, he had murdered._

_Sam—_

“Kid?” a voice echoed in Tommy’s hearing. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sam?” Tommy asked— _begged._

“Guess again,” the voice—Schlatt, Tommy realized—said dryly. Tommy felt a hand grab him by the arm, and Tommy shrunk back just as the voice swore. “You’re burning up. What—?”

Tommy let out a low moan, feeling his magic beg for a feather in his hand as it burned under his skin and in his fingers. He could just reach back, pick pluck a dark-colored feather from his wings, and kill Schlatt then and there. Then the pain would end, then he could feel free again.

“ _Killing’s in your nature, Thomas. It’s the only way to stop your magic form swallowing you whole.”_

No. Tommy didn’t want to kill anyone. Tommy especially didn’t want to kill _Schlatt_ , who was the kindest adult Tommy had met since _Sam_. Tommy didn’t want to lose another kind adult. Not like this, not by Tommy’s own hand.

Besides, Tommy didn’t even want to think about how _Tubbo_ would react if he found out that his new friend was a _black-born,_ a _killer,_ his father’s _murderer._

Tommy felt strong arms lift him off the ground, and he struggled weakly. Schlatt was taking him somewhere.

“Kid, I need to get you to a warm nest at least,” Schlatt said, sounding impatient.

Normally, Tommy would’ve shrunk back at the tone. Now, he continued struggling all the more, trying his hardest to squirm out of Schlatt’s arms, too afraid to touch him, too afraid to hurt him with his hands.

“I can’t,” he gasped, “My magic… I’ll hurt—”

Tommy felt Schlatt stop in his tracks. “Prime, _kid,”_ Schlatt whispered, sounding horrified, “You’ve been repressing your magic?”

Tommy didn’t reply. Schlatt immediately set him down. Thank prime. Maybe Schlatt would leave Tommy, and Tommy wouldn’t be worried about killing anyone as he died.

_“You think I can die, Thomas? Because neither of us are dying tonight.”_

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, “I’m sorry, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to kill him, please, why do I have to kill him?”

 _“He’s a distraction,”_ his father’s voice echoed in his ears, _“You have a destiny, and he’s distracting you from it.”_

“He’s my friend.” Tears pricked at Tommy’s eyes as the pain in his body worsened. “Please, father, he’s my friend.”

 _“You don’t need friends,”_ his father spat. Tommy felt him press a black feather into Tommy’s hand. “ _I’m the only friend you need. Now kill him.”_

Tommy shuddered, but his father’s word was law. He allowed his magic to surge into his palm— _why did it hurt so much, prime—_ and crush the feather in his fist into dust.

His fingertips tingled with power. All he needed to do was touch him.

_“Do it.”_

Tommy didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to be with his father. He wanted to _leave._

Without thinking, Tommy reached to touch his father’s neck. His fingers touched the hard porcelain mask instead. It dissolved into a million pieces. And—

The pain left.

Still, Tommy could see his father glaring at him. His eyes flashing green. He opened his mouth—

 _“Tommy,_ kid, can you hear me?”

…that wasn’t right. That wasn’t how his father’s voice was supposed to sound. He was supposed to be _angry,_ not whatever that emotion was.

Tommy suddenly realized that his eyes were shut, that his breathing was gasping breaths, that he wasn’t in his musty underground room.

No, he was… leaning against someone?

“Sam?” Tommy whispered for the second time that day.

Had Sam saved him? Was Sam back? Prime, please let this be Sam. _Please._

“Sorry, kid.”

 _Schlatt,_ Tommy realized again. Disappointment crushed him like a heavy boulder. He should’ve known better. Sam wouldn’t save him. Sam _couldn’t_ save him.

Not anymore.

Tommy didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to continue living in his fantasy. He wanted to pretend that this was Sam wrapping his arms around him, that Sam was comforting him after his father had made him kill another man, that Sam would be there and _never leave._

At least the pain was gone.

Wait. _The pain was gone._ That meant he used his magic. That meant he killed someone.

Tommy opened his eyes with a snap, jerking himself out of Schlatt’s arms.

“ _Who_?” Tommy gasped, jumping to his feet to begin his desperate search for a body.

It couldn’t have been Schlatt; Schlatt was sitting right here, having the gall to look confused. There was no body in sight. Did Tommy kill a plant? But they were in the middle of an empty path, there was no plant to kill. And Tommy didn’t see any of the familiar ashes that he left when he destroyed non-living objects, so _what—_

A small bottle of _something_ was sitting next to Schlatt, but that didn’t matter, because it wasn’t destroyed, so it couldn’t have been the thing Tommy touched and _destroyed—_

Schlatt got to his feet.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice quiet, “What do you mean by who?”

“I mean _who?!”_ Tommy shouted, “ _What_ did I kill?!”

Schlatt froze.

“Oh prime,” he whispered, “You’re black-born, aren’t you?”

That’s when Tommy realized. His cloak was still on. It was still shielding both of his wings. And even if Schlatt had seen them, it was too dark. Schlatt could’ve easily assumed that Tommy’s wings were a dark version of some other color.

Some other color. Not _black._

Tommy’s breath left him, and he took a step back, his wings flaring underneath his cloak.

He had screwed up.

But… shouldn’t Schlatt have seen the destruction his magic wrought? Didn’t Schlatt take one of Tommy’s feathers to diffuse his magic?

Unless… Schlatt gave Tommy one of _his_ feathers instead.

“I…” Tommy began.

He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say? He was a black-born. He was a _killer._ He had killed so many people. And Tommy had just made friends with Schlatt’s _son._ Schlatt wasn’t just going to be okay with that.

Maybe this was for the best. At least Tommy wouldn’t have to worry about his father anymore.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Tommy whispered, “I just-I just want…”

What did Tommy want?

He wanted to get away from his father, but past that?

Did Tommy _know_ what he wanted? Did he want anything past that? Was Tommy’s existence doomed to be a game of hunter and prey, with Tommy always cursed to hide away from his father’s shadow, from his father’s _words_?

 _“I’m the only one who will accept you,”_ his father whispered into Tommy’s hair, _“You’re only safe with me.”_

Sam’s smile flashed across Tommy’s mind.

Tommy shook himself. He didn’t want to think about Sam right now.

The image of Tubbo’s garden played in his mind. Then the laughter at the dinner table. The warmth Tommy had felt when he spent time with Tubbo, when he spent time with Schlatt.

“I won’t hurt you,” Schlatt said, his voice sounding more solemn than before, “And I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually have a place to stay?”

Tommy flinched. “I manage fine outside,” he whispered, “it’s still warmer than…”

Still warmer than the damp, cold room that Tommy had called home for the first eleven years of his life. Still warmer than the stone floors Tommy was forced to sleep on.

Tommy had deserved it, but that didn’t mean that Tommy had to _enjoy_ it.

Schlatt sighed, and Tommy wished he could make out his face in the dark.

“Come on, kid,” he said, “Let’s head back to my place. Tubbo’s worried about you.”

Tommy took a step back, hugging his cloak around himself like a security blanket. His wings wanted to break free, to create a shield, but after the memory he had just relived, Tommy wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach the sight of them.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tommy demanded, “I’m a _black-born._ I’m _dangerous_.”

“You’re clearly a danger to no one but yourself,” Schlatt snapped. Tommy flinched, and Schlatt let out another sigh, bringing his hand to his head. “Honestly kid, repressing your magic like that? Why didn’t you just kill a plant?”

Like it was that simple. Like every time Tommy called on his power he didn’t feel sick, unclean, _evil._

“I hate it,” Tommy whispered, “I hate it; I don’t want anything to do with it.”

_“You can’t escape it, Toms.”_

“We’ll talk about this later,” Schlatt said, “I know you won’t hurt Tubbo. You’ve made that painstakingly obvious. _Please,_ just… come home with me. For Tubbo at least.”

Tubbo… Tommy liked Tubbo.

But wasn’t that all the more reason to leave now while he had the chance?

“I’m still dangerous,” Tommy protested, “My father, he’ll—”

“I won’t let him,” Schlatt said firmly, “He won’t hurt anyone in my household. Not under my watch.”

Frustration bubbled underneath Tommy, and he shook his head, scowling.

“It’s not like that,” Tommy protested, “You don’t understand. He’s not just some _guy_ you can beat up. He’s…”

Tommy trailed off. He had never thought of his father as anybody other than _father_ before. But he was someone more than that. He was someone _far_ more dangerous.

Schlatt’s voice was calm when he next spoke. “Who is your father?”

Tommy swallowed. Did he dare say it? Would even saying his name summon him to where Tommy stood? Once, Tommy had accidentally mentioned his name out loud, and his father had beat him for hours. It was Tommy’s own fault for being so careless with his words, but the memory burned into his mind like a hot iron rod, a constant reminder to _never ever_ say his father’s name.

“I can’t—” Tommy’s voice came out as a gasp. “I can’t.”

Schlatt nodded. “Okay,” he said, “Just one night. Alright? One night, and then you can leave.”

Tommy hesitated. One night couldn’t hurt. Could it? Surely his father wouldn’t find Tommy _that_ quickly. Tommy could stay over for one night.

Tommy nodded wearily. “Okay,” he whispered, “One night.”

“One night,” Schlatt agreed.

Tommy followed Schlatt back to his house, where Tubbo immediately tackled Tommy into a hug.

“Tommy!” he exclaimed, his wings wrapping around Tommy as well as his arms, “I never thought I’d see you again!”

Tommy cautiously returned the hug, trying not to revel in its warmth, trying not to imagine that this could be forever, that Tommy could have a hug like this every day if he only _stayed._

Because Tommy couldn’t stay, and that was that. There was no point in dwelling on things that were never meant to be.

“Only for one night,” Tommy said, trying his best not to sound too reluctant over it.

He had only met Tubbo today, there was no point in being sad over a relationship that never had the chance to start to begin with.

Tubbo’s hug loosened a little bit as Tubbo sagged.

“Oh,” he said quietly. Then his voice brightened significantly, for some unknown reason. “But that’s better than nothing!”

“Alright Tubs,” Schlatt said, “Time for both of you to go to bed.”

Tommy allowed Schlatt to direct Tommy to a guest bedroom, and Tommy saw a pile of blankets sitting on the floor.

“You can nest however you’d like,” Schlatt said, gesturing to the pile of blankets, “But I’d recommend taking that cloak off before you sleep. It can’t be healthy for your wings.”

Tommy nodded, although he had no intention of doing anything of the kind. In fact, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

“I—” Tommy swallowed, “I don’t know how to nest.”

The silence in the room was suffocating, and Tommy was already curling in on himself, waiting for the judgement, waiting for the hit.

“ _Prime,_ kid,” Schlatt whispered, “You… you really got the sort end of the stick, didn’t you?”

Tommy wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, so he just shrugged.

“I know what nesting is,” Tommy stuttered. He didn’t want Schlatt to think he was _that_ pathetic. “I just… I never needed to know how before.”

“That changes now,” Schlatt said firmly. Tommy winced, and Schlatt’s voice softened. “Do you want me to get Tubbo to teach you?”

Tommy shrugged again, hugging himself. “I don’t want to bother him. I’ll be fine sleeping on the floor.”

“No way.” Schlatt crossed his arms. “If you’re only staying one night, then we’re doing this now. And Tubbo won’t mind.”

Tommy watched as Schlatt left the room.

Now alone, Tommy looked around, unsure of what to do with himself. Eventually, he decided to sit down on the pile of blankets. Tubbo returned not long after.

“Hi,” Tubbo said, sitting down next to Tommy, “Dad said you didn’t know how to nest?”

Tommy shrugged, feeling his face heat up.

“I never needed to before now,” he said quietly.

 _“Nesting is unnecessary,”_ his father had told him after Tommy asked, _“You don’t need it.”_

“That’s alright,” Tubbo said, his voice taking on a comforting tone. Tommy appreciated it. He wasn’t sure if he could take any pity. “I’ll show you. It’s simple, really.”

Tommy got off the pile of blankets, and Tubbo showed him how to arrange the blankets into a nest-like formation.

“Of course, everyone’s nests are unique to their personality,” Tubbo explained, “And they vary in shape depending on how someone sleeps. I sleep curled up in a ball, so my nests are rounder than others.”

“I sleep curled up too,” Tommy said quietly. He stared at the nest Tubbo had made. “Can… can I try?”

Tubbo nodded. “Of course!”

Tommy carefully began moving the blankets around, having only some idea of what he was doing. Still, he managed to arrange the blankets in such a way that looked at least somewhat comfortable to him.

Tommy sat down in it. It felt pretty good, for lack of a better word.

“Can I sit next to you?” Tubbo asked, his turn to sound timid.

A part of Tommy wanted to say no. He was too dangerous for Tubbo to seek company from him.

Another part of him craved Tubbo’s company as much as Tubbo seemed to want his.

“Okay.”

Tubbo climbed into the nest and sat to Tommy’s left. He rested his head against Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy let out a little startled noise.

Tubbo moved away immediately. “Do you not like that?” he asked.

Tommy shook his head quickly. “No,” he said quickly, “you can do it.”

Tubbo nodded and returned his head to Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy slowly found himself leaning against Tubbo. He was… warm. Safe.

Tubbo’s right wing wrapped around Tommy’s wings and back, and Tommy’s wings itched to do the same, to wrap around Tubbo in a strange embrace. But he didn’t.

 _One night,_ Tommy reminded himself as he fell asleep, _This was only for one night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt, comfort, and world building go brrrrrr.
> 
> I've read a good fic about nesting somewhere in this fandom, but i don't remember what it was called. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadschlatt pov, dadschlatt pov, dadschlatt pov
> 
> Or, schlatt has thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: child abuse, alcoholism, accidental teen pregnancy, underage drinking, discrimination, implied/referenced death sorta, implied kidnapping

Schlatt would be the first to say that his life had kind of sucked.

His father had been black-born; the only reason Schlatt existed was because of a drunk night at the tavern. His mother had claimed that she was too hazy to notice that the man she was spending the night with had black wings.

Schlatt believed it. And whatever she had seen in the man to begin with ended the instant she had a clear enough mind to see his father’s true nature. Schlatt’s father was thoroughly slandered in his house.

_“Your good for nothing father could do more than you.” “He’s probably killed more men than you’ve made wine.” “Don’t be like that crazy man.”_

Oh yeah, was it worth mentioning that his mother was an abusive hag?

Maybe the first few years of Schlatt’s life weren’t _awful,_ he frankly didn’t remember enough to know. What he _did_ know was that as soon as he turned three, his life became a living hell.

You see, of all the different types of magic that Schlatt could’ve gotten with blood red wings and a drunk mother, _of course_ the one he landed on was being able to turn water to wine. _Of course._

So, Schlatt was suddenly his mother’s barkeeper, giving her alcohol whenever the urge hit her, selling alcohol when she realized she needed money, drinking alcohol himself when he could finally scavenge some alone time.

The most disgusting part? Schlatt _enjoyed_ ‘helping’ his mother. He _enjoyed_ it. He thought it was good that he was “lightening the load” and becoming “less of a burden” and breaking free from “his father’s disgusting legacy.”

Schlatt now knew that all of that was a load of crap, but at the time, Schlatt actually believed those stupid lies his mother told him. He hated his father with as much passion as his mother, spat with everyone else whenever the term “black-born” was uttered, and drank the night away at the town’s tavern.

By the time Schlatt was sixteen, he had no _freaking_ clue how many girls he had hooked up with.

All he knew was that he stepped outside one morning, ready to get away from his mother and her abusive crap for the day when there was a baby on his doorstep.

A baby.

On _his_ doorstep.

Now, one really had to understand the situation Schlatt was facing in this moment. His head was still pounding from hangover. His stomach hurt, and the morning sunlight was already making him want to shrink away back into his house, which currently wasn’t an option, because his mother was yelling at him to be useful, which was doing absolutely _nothing_ for his headache.

And now there was a baby on his doorstep. A baby with brown hair and green wings that barely looked more than a few days old.

Schlatt was about to do the only reasonable thing in this situation—turn around, go back to sleep, and wake up to see the baby gone—when the baby opened it’s eyes and started _bawling._

Schlatt’s headache was really _not_ having a good day.

So Schlatt did the _second_ most reasonable thing to do and picked the baby up, hoping that the action would calm it down.

To Schlatt’s complete lack of surprise, he only succeeded in making the baby cry louder. Schlatt’s wings bristled. He was trying to get _away_ from the noise. No wonder his mother couldn’t stand him if _this_ was what he was doing to her hangovers when he was younger.

There was a note on the floor where Schlatt picked up the baby, so Schlatt stooped over to pick it up, ignoring the thing’s constant wailing, _honestly_ why couldn’t it shut up?

_I can’t take care of him. He’s yours. His name is Tubbo. Please take care of him._

There was no indicator of who the note came from, and Schlatt couldn’t even begin to attempt to recall any pretty brunettes with green wings.

Schlatt felt sick.

When had he become so much like her? When had he become a drunk idiot who apparently got unsuspecting teenage girls pregnant? When had he become so bitter to the world?

The baby— _Tubbo_ , Schlatt recalled—was still crying, and Schlatt quickly held the boy more carefully, rocking him back and forth. You did that with babies, right?

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Schlatt said, trying not to panic, “Uh, what do babies like? Uh… rock-a-bye hatchling on the tree top, when the wind blows, the nest will rock…”

To Schlatt and his headache’s immense relief, Tubbo stopped crying, staring up at Schlatt. His big brown eyes seemed to be staring into Schlatt’s soul, and Schlatt found himself melting.

His mother’s voice reverberated from inside the house.

“What’s all that racket?!”

Schlatt flinched. And Tubbo began crying again.

That day, Schlatt moved out. He found a place in the capital of the Antarctic Empire. He went sober, which was done by the side of many professional doctors with healing magic.

Schlatt vowed to never use his magic again. He was _not_ going to get drunk again. Not when he had a two-month old.

When that fell through, _because damn repressing magic hurt like hell,_ Schlatt decided to start a business, taking a small leaf out of his mother’s book. He sold the wine he created to rich and poor people alike.

He had expected the business to be small, simple. As it turned out, Schlatt soon found himself seeped in enough money for him to buy his own manor.

It was tempting too.

That all changed when someone tried to kidnap Tubbo and sell him for ransom when he was barely a year old.

That scared the _hell_ out of Schlatt. He had already experienced a couple of run-ins with a few men trying to steal his feathers (and who wouldn’t with such a profitable power), but _Tubbo?_ That’s where Schlatt drew his line.

So, Schlatt packed up. He left his business to Quackity, a nice enough dude, promising to send him feathers when he could. Fortunately, they had already started growing some vineyards (because relying on a single person’s power for a business was pure stupidity), so hopefully the business would stay afloat. If not, Schlatt had plenty of gold to support himself and Tubbo for years.

Schlatt could already imagine the gossip though. _Sixteen-year-old nobody makes a name for himself in a major wine business before disappearing without a trace a year later._

He didn’t particularly care, but the idea was pretty funny.

Schlatt moved to a small town near the outskirts of the Antarctic Empire, got a nice cottage, and hoped for a peaceful life for him and his son.

He would be better than both his stupid black-born father _and_ his abusive mother.

When Tubbo turned three, Schlatt took him outside and carefully pressed a feather into his hand.

“I’m going to learn my magic?” Tubbo had asked very carefully, seeming almost nervous at the thought of crushing the green feather in his hand.

“Yeah,” Schlatt said, smiling encouragingly, “Won’t that be cool?”

Tubbo hesitated, his wings bristling agitatedly. “What if it hurts you?”

Schlatt’s heart broke. Kids should be excited to discover their new power, not worried that they’ll hurt their parents.

“Tubs, I promise that it won’t hurt me directly,” Schlatt said, “And if your magic does hurt me, I’ll know it was an accident. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo frowned and stared at the feather in his hand. “Some older kids were talking about people who have powers that kill people,” he whispered, “What if I kill you?”

Schlatt was going to _kill_ those older kids. Later. Now, he ran his hands up and down Tubbo’s arms soothingly.

“You won’t,” Schlatt promised, “Those people are called black-borns. Their wings are black. Your wings are greener than the grass beneath our feet.”

Tubbo visibly relaxed, smiling slightly. “Okay.”

Schlatt nodded. “Okay. Go whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Tubbo took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and crushed the feather in his palm. It dissolved into green dust, and Tubbo let out a small gasp, snapping his eyes open.

“It feels tingly,” he said, staring at his hand, even if there was no visible difference.

Schlatt laughed. “Yeah, that’s your magic. Try touching things with your hand.”

Tubbo still seemed nervous about touching Schlatt, so Schlatt gestured to the ground. Tubbo carefully crouched down and brushed his fingers against the virtually non-existent grass (winter was not kind to even the outskirts of the Antarctic Empire); he let out an excited yelp when the grass suddenly grew fast and green.

“It grew!” he exclaimed.

Schlatt laughed. His son’s magic _grew_ things. His son’s magic _created_ and didn’t destroy.

Tubbo wanted to make a garden almost instantly. Schlatt helped him as he eagerly grew different flowers and vegetables, and Schlatt actually had to force Tubbo to stop before he ripped his wings bare of feathers, which was the last thing anyone needed.

Tubbo needed some feathers left over for flying, after all.

_He’d never forget the joy on Tubbo’s face as he lifted himself off the ground for the first time._

As the years passed, the other kids in the town started to bully Tubbo for his love of gardening and his poor reading skills. Schlatt was already teaching Tubbo everything he knew, but he hated how his son was growing more and more distant from everyone in his generation.

Tubbo needed _friends._

So maybe that was why Schlatt was so open to a kid Tubbo’s age who Schlatt had _never_ seen before. He must’ve moved there recently, and Schlatt decided that he wasn’t going to question the kid too much.

Now Schlatt wasn’t stupid. The kid, Tommy, flinched too much. He was too skinny. He wore a cloak over his wings like he had something to hide.

But Schlatt didn’t want to question it. Schlatt didn’t want to turn away the only friend Tubbo has managed to make in _years._ So Schlatt ignored the signs. Schlatt stayed as welcoming as possible. Schlatt didn’t encourage the possibility that the kid had a _reason_ to hide his wings like the plague.

Especially when the kid was so small, so scared, so unsure.

Honestly, he reminded Schlatt a little of himself, before he drowned himself in booze.

Maybe that was why Schlatt chased him when he ran away as night fell. Maybe it was the broken look on Tubbo’s face. Regardless, Schlatt chased down the poor kid and found him suffering from magic repression in the middle of the road.

After carefully taking Tommy into his arms, Schlatt quickly pressed one of his own red feathers into the boy’s hand, trying to ignore Tommy’s muttering, _pleading_ with someone, deaf to Schlatt’s own begging for the kid to return to the present.

“I’m sorry,” the kid whispered, sounding like he was afraid for his life, “I’m sorry, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to kill him, please why do I have to kill him?”

What had this kid been through?

Tommy had already crushed the feather in his hand, so Schlatt quickly pulled a bottle of water from his hand and pressed it against Tommy’s fingers. The water instantly turned to wine, and Schlatt was relieved to see Tommy visibly sag in relief.

Magic repression hurt like crap. Schlatt knew how _wonderful_ it felt to finally let some of his magic out after being in all that pain.

Tommy still looked like he was living in his own personal nightmare, however.

“ _Tommy,_ kid can you hear me?” Schlatt said, allowing some panic to bleed into his voice.

Tommy’s face flickered, and Schlatt noted with relief that he had at least snapped Tommy out of the nightmare or flashback or whatever it was.

“Sam?” Tommy whispered, practically begged. It was the second time Schlatt had heard that name today.

Schlatt’s heart when out to this poor kid who only wanted comfort from someone who Schlatt could not provide.

“Sorry, kid,” Schlatt said.

When Tommy began panicking, clearly thinking that Schlatt had used Tommy’s feathers instead of his own, Schlatt began to connect the dots.

The reason Tommy hid his wings. The reason Tommy had a flashback or nightmare about being forced to kill his friend. The reason Tommy was so sure he had destroyed something or someone.

Tommy was _black-born,_ something Schlatt should despise, something Schlatt should fear.

But Schlatt suddenly remembered a conversation he had a little over ten years ago with a kid a little younger than Tommy and Tubbo were now.

Schlatt was nearly seventeen when the third prince was born to the Antarctic Empire.

Not much was said about him; the naming ceremony had been moved back a couple of months.

Schlatt wasn’t all that surprised. Rumors of Dream being active nearby were running rampant, and putting a brand-new baby in a public setting when the Empire’s worst enemy was potentially nearby would've been stupid.

But one day, while Schlatt was out and about with a four-month-old Tubbo in his arms, a kid with bushy brown hair walked up to him with an air of superiority that did not match his middle-class clothing.

Schlatt judged was nine-years-old tops. Made sense. Nine-year-olds were little craps.

After this quick judgement, Schlatt was expecting to be bossed around or bragged too or something like that. The _last_ thing Schlatt expected was for the first words out of the kid’s mouth to be,

“My baby brother is black-born.”

Schlatt blinked. He was inclined to assume the kid was joking, but the kid was giving him a defiant stare that could make armies tremble.

Schlatt hated black-borns as much as anybody else, but he vowed not to be like his mother. So instead of slandering this kid’s brother right off the bat, he just decided to say,

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” the kid said tersely, “And he is the most beautiful baby anyone has ever seen. He laughs when I play with him, and he is _not_ evil.”

Schlatt had half a mind to argue with him, black-borns were dangerous, but…

Could Schlatt really argue? Could Schlatt really condemn this kid for loving his little brother? Could Schlatt really condemn a _baby_ for being born with black wings? If Tubbo, who was currently sleeping in his arms, had black wings, would Schlatt had cast him aside without a second glance?

The thought made Schlatt feel sick. He didn’t argue.

“If you say so,” he said with a shrug, “You would know better than me. It’s not like _I’ve_ met your brother.”

The kid scowled. “I’m not sure you heard me correctly. I said he was black-born.”

“I know,” Schlatt said, “But if you say that he’s a nice kid, who am I to argue?”

The kid’s mouth opened slightly, probably in shock. How many people had this kid declared his brother’s status to? How many people had reacted like Schlatt did?

Not many, if the beam that spread across the kid’s face was anything to go by.

“I like you,” he said, “I’ll be sure to tell my father about you.”

Schlatt raised his eyebrows. “And who’s your father?”

The kid’s grin was a lot more mischievous now. “The king,” he said, holding his hand out for a shake, “I’m Wilbur, by the way.”

_You have got to be kidding me._

Forgetting about all the proper formalities, Schlatt mutely shook Prince Wilbur’s hand. Prince Wilbur only grinned all the wider for it.

It wasn’t until Prince Wilbur had dashed out of sight that Schlatt realized the implications of the conversation.

The new prince was _black-born_.

Schlatt didn’t even want to _think_ about the implications of that one.

When the prince was declared missing, Schlatt prayed to Prime that he actually went missing instead of being killed for the political problems his wings would cause.

Now, Schlatt wasn’t considering that this kid could be the missing prince. That was so far-fetched that Schlatt would laugh at anyone who even _considered_ believing it. Sure, Tommy would be the right age for it, but the chances were slim to impossible.

What he _was_ considering was that Prince Wilbur might’ve actually had a point about the “black-borns weren't inherently evil” point. Especially when Tommy had done nothing but be afraid and kind the entire time he was with Schlatt.

So, Schlatt brought Tommy back to his house. Tubbo hugged Tommy so tightly that Schlatt knew he had made the right choice.

And then Tommy didn’t know how to nest, and Schlatt’s heart _shattered._

Nesting was such a vital part of living, such a vital part of getting a decent night’s sleep, and Tommy had never done it _once?_

That’s when Schlatt realized that Tommy’s childhood had been some sort of convoluted hell where he was expected to kill his friends, and sleep without a nest, and live in so much fear of his father that he couldn’t even utter his name.

“ _Prime,_ kid,” Schlatt had whispered, filled with raw horror, “You… you really got the short end of the stick, didn’t you?”

And then Tommy had tried to explain that he didn’t _need_ to know how to nest.

Schlatt went to get Tubbo.

“Tubbo,” he said quietly, peeking through Tubbo’s door.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asked sleepily, sitting up from his nest.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Tubbo sleepily replied in the affirmative, and Schlatt stepped into Tubbo’s bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He sat down in front of Tubbo.

“Listen,” Schlatt said, “Tommy doesn’t know how to nest.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened. “What? How—”

“I don’t know.” Schlatt’s wings bristled in agitation or worry or something. It didn’t really matter. “I do know that Tommy’s been through a lot, so don’t ask him too many questions, okay?”

Tubbo nodded. “Come to think of it, I don’t think he knew what bees were earlier.”

 _Prime,_ if Tommy kept this up, Schlatt's heart would be nothing but ground up dust.

“Yeah, just, explain anything that needs to be explained, alright?” Schlatt ruffled Tubbo’s hair. Tubbo let out a small giggle. “I know you would do that anyway, but I have to say these things.”

Tubbo nodded, tilting his head slightly. “Do you want me to help Tommy with his nest?”

Schlatt smiled. “That would be great.”

Tubbo eagerly leapt to his feet, his wings flapping slightly behind him as he left the room. Schlatt loved his son’s wings, but they currently served as a reminder of Tommy’s, which were still dangerously tucked away underneath his cloak.

If Tommy didn’t stretch those wings soon, there was going to be lasting damage.

After about an hour, Schlatt peeked into Tommy’s bedroom to see Tubbo and Tommy sleeping on top of each other.

He really hoped that Tommy would stay for more than one night. Prime knew that the kids needed each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, I hope you enjoyed Schlatt's pov. I hope you enjoyed Wilbur. 
> 
> I drew a [picture](https://mollypollykinz.tumblr.com/post/644141353276669952/i-drew-winged-tommy-because-i-wanted-too-its) of Tommy on Tumblr for this au. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please be nice in the comments! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preening somehow got angsty. 
> 
> Like... really angsty.
> 
> And oh look, Wilbur's here too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: trauma, ptsd, emotional manipulation, referenced murder, discrimination, referenced child abuse, referenced kidnapping

Waking up was a bit of a routine with Tommy.

Every morning, Tommy would snap his eyes open, expecting to see the darkness of his room and instead seeing the brightness of the morning sun. He would bask in it a little bit before eating a little something and going back on the move, getting as far away from his old home as possible.

 _Away from his father_.

Already, Tommy’s routine was disrupted by the weight on his shoulder and the very distinct _lack_ of morning sky above him.

Instead there were dark walls; the weight on him was warm, but Tommy felt suddenly very cold. Had his father found him? Had he brought him back? No, no, Tommy couldn’t be here, he couldn’t be here, not again, please _not again._

“Tommy?” a voice asked, sounding a little groggy.

That didn’t sound like Sam. And his father _never_ called him Tommy.

“Tommy, are you alright?”

Tommy looked to the sound of the voice and blinked when he saw the person sitting next to him. Their green wings weren’t the same color as Sam’s or his father’s, and Tommy tried to place where he knew this person from.

And the memories from yesterday began filtering through. Meeting Tubbo at the market. Schlatt. One more night.

“Tubbo?” Tommy asked, not entirely sure if this was real.

Tubbo smiled, his wings and shoulders both sagging. “Yep,” he said brightly, “You scared me there for a minute, man.”

Most of Tommy wanted to curl in on himself, to mumble apologies and beg for forgiveness.

But that was the old Tommy, and Tommy didn’t want anything to do with him. He had already acted fairly humiliatingly the other day, and Tommy didn’t want Schlatt to think he was _weak_ or anything.

He could be useful. He could help.

Then Tommy realized that he was leaving today, so there was no use in being useful to begin with.

Why did a small part of him feel heavy at the thought? He should _want_ to leave. He would be endangering everyone here by staying. He had already endangered Tubbo enough.

_“Kill him.”_

Tommy clenched his fists tightly, not caring that his nails were digging painfully into his palms.

“Are you alright?” Tubbo asked for the second time in the short length of time they had both been awake.

Tommy felt heat rise up to his cheeks, and this time he _did_ curl in on himself. He couldn’t even make conversation right.

“Yeah,” he said, he forced himself to straighten and made his tone louder, “Yeah, I was just thinking. You know me, I’ve got… big thoughts.”

Tubbo laughed the same way Sam might, and Tommy felt himself relax a little bit.

Tubbo made a tired noise as he stretched his wings out and leaned back, clearly getting the stiffness out of his muscles. Tommy’s wings twitched in jealousy, but Tommy held them back. Schlatt might know about his wings, but Tubbo didn’t. Tommy would prefer to keep it that way.

Besides, he would be leaving in about an hour. There was plenty of time to stretch his wings out then.

Tubbo stood up. “I think Dad’s making breakfast,” he remarked, like Schlatt always made breakfast at this hour.

Maybe he did. It was kind of strange though. Tommy’s father only ever had Tommy be given food based on how good Tommy had been that day. Had Tubbo been good? How did he know?

Then again, Schlatt was strange. Or, at least, different from Tommy’s father. Maybe he just made food for Tubbo regardless of how good he had been. Didn’t they have dinner earlier? Yeah, but Tubbo had delivered the watermelon, and that was good.

Tommy’s brain was so mixed up he could barely sift past all of the thoughts. Why did everything have to be so _damn complicated_?

Tommy let out a small gasp as Tubbo took him by the hand, and Tubbo let go immediately.

Was it wrong that Tommy craved the touch?

Yes. Tommy was too dangerous to touch. He could hurt someone on accident. The only person who could touch him was his father, because his father had feathers to protect against that.

Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows. “You should probably stop thinking so hard,” he informed him, “It looks like it’s making you unhappy.”

Tommy forced out a small scoff, standing up. “I’m always unhappy,” he deadpanned.

Tubbo looked mortified at that. “Oh no! Is there any way I can help? Maybe the food will make you feel better, or—”

Tommy raised his hands placatingly, silencing Tubbo. “I was just joking,” he lied.

He hadn’t really been joking, but it was clearly making Tubbo upset, and he didn’t want to make Tubbo upset, because he liked Tubbo, and Tubbo didn’t need to worry about his problems anyway, the less Tubbo knew the better, and—

“Oh,” Tubbo said, breaking Tommy out of his thoughts, “Come on, then, I think I can smell eggs.”

Come to think of it, Tommy could smell _something_ coming from the lower floor of the house. It smelled _amazing._

“Okay,” he said, following Tubbo down the stairs and into the kitchen. The amazing smell was stronger over here, and Tommy’s mouth was watering shamefully. Sure enough, Schlatt was hovering over some metal-fire thing, and he was holding a sizzling pan over it.

Tommy followed Tubbo as he looked over Schlatt’s shoulder. There seemed to be a golden mushy substance in the pan, and Tommy balked. This was for eating? It looked like fungi that crawled on dead logs.

“Good morning boys,” Schlatt said, “The eggs will be ready in a second.”

“Those are eggs?” Tommy demanded incredulously.

He clapped a hand over his mouth instantly after he said it. He asked a question, and to make matters worse, he asked it _rudely,_ and Schlatt has been nothing but kind to him, and he had to _screw it up, and now he was going to be kicked out—_

Schlatt laughed. Tommy flinched, shutting his eyes shut. He felt pathetic. He _was_ pathetic.

“They don’t exactly look like it, do they?” Schlatt asked. He didn’t sound angry.

Someone placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy flinched away. The hand left again, and Tommy hated himself for wanting it back.

_“Selfish.”_

Tommy forced himself to open his eyes and lower his hand away from his mouth. Schlatt had focused his attention back on the eggs, and Tubbo was standing in front of Tommy

“You’ll like eggs,” Tubbo said calmly, like it was perfectly normal to know someone who was so _stupid_ that they didn’t even know what _eggs_ looked like. “They’re scrambled, so they don’t look like the eggs you might see at the market.”

Oh. That made… more sense than before. Tommy tried to release some of the tension in his body, as he nodded.

“You kids can sit down,” Schlatt said calmly, “These are just about done.”

Tommy nodded obediently, and Tubbo was already hastening to the seat he sat at yesterday. Tubbo was eagerly gesturing to the seat next to him, which also happened to be the seat _Tommy_ sat at yesterday, so Tommy sat down there.

Schlatt placed too plates of steaming golden eggs, which still smelled delicious but looked suspiciously gross, in front of them. Tubbo immediately took his fork and began eating, but Tommy approached the meal with more caution, carefully holding his fork in his hand and poking at the mushy substance.

“You don’t have to like it,” Schlatt informed him, sitting down at the table with his own plate, “but you might want to try it first.”

Tommy nodded quickly, grimacing at his rudeness. Schlatt had offered him a place to stay for the night and _fed_ him, and now Tommy was being rude?

Tommy quickly shoveled up a large bite of eggs onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth.

 _Prime,_ that was good.

Good didn’t even begin to describe how amazing this food was. It was _delicious._ No, not delicious, _divine._ It came down from the heavens.

“Good, right?” Tubbo asked thickly, his mouth still full of _heavenly egg substance._

How could Tommy have ever thought this to be gross?

Within five minutes, the eggs were long gone from both of their plates, and Schlatt began clearing the table.

“Alright,” he said, dumping the dishes into a metal bin, “You two get dressed and then we can preen before lessons.”

Tommy froze.

 _“Then you can get preened,”_ his father had said, resting a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, _“Wouldn’t you like that?”_

Tommy didn’t want to get preened. He didn’t want to have any more blood on his hands. He thought this place was _different._ Who was Schlatt going to ask him to kill? Where were they hiding? Was there some secret basement underneath here?

Tommy needed to get out of here.

“Tommy?” Tubbo asked, tugging on Tommy’s cloak, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy struggled to form the words. “Pr-preening,” he muttered, standing up quickly. Tubbo stood up with him. “I… I don’t want that.”

Schlatt looked _surprised,_ like he expected Tommy to just lean into the thought of feeling the wonderful feeling of preening, of melting into the touch, like he just expected Tommy to be _fine_ with murder because he promised preening afterward.

Tommy used to be that person, but not anymore. Preening was _bad._

Schlatt still hadn’t said anything, but there was a frown on his face, which meant that Tommy screwed up again. But Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to care, because he was _not_ staying here if that meant more killing.

None of this made sense. They were so _nice_ before.

“Preening is just straightening feathers,” Tubbo explained, “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I know what preening is,” Tommy snapped. Tubbo winced, and Tommy flinched. “I just… it’s not… I… don’t…”

Prime, he couldn’t even speak anymore.

Schlatt walked around the table and crouched down to be eye-level with Tommy. Tommy flinched away from the eye-contact, but Schlatt didn’t move to touch him.

“Tommy,” he asked slowly, “This is a very important question, so I’m going to need you to be honest with me.”

Tommy nodded, wondering why he hadn’t left yet. These people were no different from his father and yet he was _still_ standing here as if he were hoping for some better explanation.

“When is the last time your feathers were preened?”

Tommy straightened at the words, glaring at Schlatt. “Two months,” he said resolutely, “And I never intend to have them preened again. I thought you were different, but if you want me to kill—”

Schlatt’s face twisted so that it was indecipherable, and Tommy clammed up.

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” Schlatt said, his voice strangely warm, “That’s not what preening is about.”

But… Tommy had always killed someone. That was part of preening, right? Once he had asked his father about his wings being uncomfortable.

 _“We can preen in a minute, Thomas,”_ he had said. A minute later, a man was dragged into the room. _“Kill him and you can be preened.”_

A shiver went down Tommy’s spine, and he shuddered.

“Yes, it is,” Tommy said, wondering if Schlatt was trying to trick him, “That’s how it works. You kill someone and then you get preened.”

Tubbo let out a small gasp, and Tommy winced, trying to ignore the tears that were beginning to build up in his eyes.

“We don’t do that here,” Schlatt said instantly, “I promise you, we don’t do that here.”

“What do you do then?” Tommy demanded. He hugged himself, because nothing made sense anymore, but preening was always after _something,_ so what did Schlatt and Tubbo do?

“We eat breakfast,” Tubbo said, his voice wavering slightly, “We eat breakfast and then we preen.”

Schlatt smiled slightly. “Yeah, what he said.”

Tommy blinked, the lump in his throat expanding. “That’s it?” His voice cracked embarrassingly at the words.

Schlatt nodded. “Yep, that’s it.”

Tears began to slip down Tommy’s cheeks, and Tubbo wrapped his arms around Tommy carefully. That only made Tommy let out a pitiful gasping sob, because it felt _so good,_ and he knew he shouldn’t be allowing it.

He didn’t pull away from the hug, but he didn’t hug back either. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt Tubbo. He didn’t want to hurt Tubbo. Tubbo was so damn _nice._

“Oh, _kid,_ ” Schlatt sighed, his own eyes gleaming as he rubbed Tommy’s shoulder gently, “Let’s get that cloak off, yeah?”

Tommy lifted his fingers to the clasp, but he hesitated. Tubbo still hadn’t seen his wings… but he had heard Tommy talk about killing people, so he supposed it didn’t make much of a difference anymore.

Tubbo let go of Tommy, and Tommy forced himself not to reach out for Tubbo to come back. Tubbo was just so _warm,_ and Tommy felt so _cold._

Schlatt was still looking at him patiently, and even Tubbo was looking at Tommy with some sort of curiosity.

Tommy took a deep breath, shut his eyes tightly, and undid the clasp of his cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground with a muffled thump.

As expected, Tubbo made a strange, startled sound. Schlatt made a noise himself, which was strange, because he had already known that Tommy was black-born. Was it just weird to see the wings in proper lighting? Or was there something else?

Tommy slowly moved to stretch out his wings for the first time for probably an entire day. Pain shot through them, and Tommy flinched, opening his eyes.

Tubbo was staring at Tommy’s wings, and Schlatt was too. Okay, so his wings might look a bit of a mess, but he knew that wasn’t why they were staring.

“Okay,” Schlatt said slowly, “Yeah, you definitely need preening.” He began walking to the living area Tommy had noticed earlier. “Come on.”

Tommy obediently followed Schlatt, and Tubbo walked ahead, tugging Schlatt by the shirt. Schlatt gave Tubbo a smile, and Tubbo seemed to relax significantly.

Weird.

“You can sit right here,” Tubbo said, gesturing to a part of the rug, “I’ll preen Dad while he preens you.”

Tommy nodded and sat on the rug obediently. Schlatt sat behind him, and Tubbo sat behind Schlatt.

Tommy felt himself tense with Schlatt sitting behind him. His father had never truly done anything bad while preening, but Schlatt could still hurt him.

“Okay,” Schlatt said gently, “I’m going to start by straightening your feathers and taking away the ones that are over-bent, okay? I’ll try not to damage any, but your feathers are pretty brittle right now.”

Tommy took a deep breath and nodded. He felt Schlatt’s fingers begin to straighten his feathers, and Tommy _melted._

It felt so good. It felt _amazing._ Tommy had forgotten how much he had missed this wonderful feeling, like someone had put him near a warm fire in the winter, like the first time Sam smuggled Tommy hot-chocolate, like someone was holding him warm and promising to never leave.

_“It feels good, doesn’t it?”_

“Alright.” Schlatt’s voice still sounded gentle. “Can you try to stretch your wings out for me? I’m going to see if I can’t loosen the stiffness.”

Tommy swallowed. It had hurt the last time he tried to stretched his wings, but Schlatt wanted him too, and he had already made him feel _so good._ Maybe he would fix the pain.

Tommy slowly stretched out his wings as far as he could manage.

“Great job.”

Tommy’s chest grew warm at the praise. Finally, he was doing something _right._

Schlatt’s fingers started gently massaging the muscles in Tommy’s wings, and Tommy slowly started to feel them loosen.

Tommy was crying again. He tried to quickly wipe away the tears, but it was too late.

Schlatt gently rubbed circles into Tommy’s back. “It’s okay, kid,” he murmured, “You can let it all out.”

Tommy _wailed._

That same morning, about a hundred miles away, the door to the king’s study was burst open, and Prince Wilbur strode into the room with all the authority of a nineteen-year-old prince.

“Dream’s been sighted,” he said, slamming the report onto the king’s desk. Wilbur’s gold wings were fluffed in aggravation. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

King Phil looked up from his work to Wilbur. Dark eyebags hung under his eyes.

“I’m sending scouts to track him,” he said, “I didn’t want you to rush into things.”

“Rush into things?” Wilbur demanded, “Rush into things? He took Thomas; he might know where he is! We need to—”

Phil stood up, allowing his gray wings to stretch their full span. “You aren’t doing anything,” he said, a dangerous undertone in his voice, “I refuse to let you—”

“Let me do what?” Wilbur demanded, infuriated, “Avenge my baby brother? Try to find him?”

“Thomas is dead,” Phil said, tears choking his voice, “You and I both know this.”

Wilbur ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Why didn’t he understand? “You don’t _know_ that.”

“It’s been eleven years,” Phil reminded Wilbur, “Even if he’s not dead, the chances of us seeing him again are next to nothing.”

Wilbur shook his head. “You’re not listening,” he said, his voice bordering on frantic, “We can find him. We can save him. Dream has him, I know he does, why won’t you let me—”

“The answer is _no,_ Wilbur!” Phil shouted, “I refuse to lose you to that psychopath!”

Wilbur shut his mouth, his jaw working back and forth angrily. “Fine,” he said coldly, “I apologize for bothering you, your _majesty_.”

With a bow, Wilbur left the room without another word or second glance.

Phil wouldn’t give him permission to track down Dream? That was fine. Wilbur didn’t need his permission anyway.

Dream would rue the day he ever decided to mess with _his_ baby brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's lore stream on Monday prevented me from updating because I was so busy writing a one-shot, so sorry for that. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the hurt/comfort. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please be nice in the comments! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt receives some bad news. Tommy is sad. Tubbo is also sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced murder, implied teenage pregnancy, referenced alcoholism, think that's it

Tommy would like the record to show that he _could,_ in fact, read, write, and do difficult math problems.

Well, some of the math problems Schlatt was showing to Tommy and Tubbo were a _little_ harder than Tommy was accustomed to, but that was fine. Tommy could do this. Tommy _needed_ to do this.

But he could not for the life of him figure out _why_ they even had to figure out the equation for the line in the first place.

“This is a bit advanced stuff,” Schlatt said calmly, as if Tommy weren’t an utter _failure_ in this particular lesson, as if Tommy couldn’t even do _one thing._ Schlatt stood up. “It should’ve occurred to me that Tubbo’s at a higher level than you in math. I’ll get some of the older books.”

Tommy’s freshly preened wings puffed up indignantly, and it still felt weird to have them out in the open like this. Sure, he would get rid of the cloak when he was alone on the road, but even then, it was only for hours at a time. Roads were used by other people too, and Tommy would rather not be spotted.

“No,” he said, a desperate edge to his voice, “I can do this. I just… need a little more time.”

Tubbo looked up from his own equation. “I can help if you want,” he said.

Tommy sighed but nodded. “Fine.”

Tubbo perked up and scooted his chair closer to Tommy’s. “See, you have to imagine that someone is climbing a hill…”

At the end of Tubbo’s explanation, the only thing Tommy managed to understand was that if the line was going up the slope was positive, and if the line was going down, the slope was negative.

Tears of frustration burned at Tommy’s eyes, and he quickly swallowed them back. He could figure this out. He _could._

“Tommy,” Schlatt said, his voice still sounding stupidly patient, “You don’t have to figure this out. This is pretty advanced stuff for an eleven-year-old. Heck, when I was your age, I didn’t know half of this stuff.”

“I _should_ be able to do it,” Tommy protested, “It’s simple, but I just…”

He was too stupid. He was a failure. He couldn’t manage to solve this simple equation, even though Tubbo had no trouble at all with it.

“How about this,” Schlatt offered, “You and Tubbo can be done for the day and go out to the garden. I’ll have lunch ready.”

Tommy curled in on himself. Now he was holding Tubbo back because of his own stupidity.

To Tommy’s surprise, however, Tubbo cheered. “Thanks, Dad!” he exclaimed, hopping out of his chair and giving Schlatt a hug.

Schlatt chuckled, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. “No problem, Tubs.”

Tommy had long decided before now that this place was very strange.

Tubbo turned to Tommy, smiling brightly. “Come on, Tommy!” he said as he moved toward the door.

Tommy sighed and got out of his chair, grabbing his cloak off of the back of it. He was loath to put a cloak back over his wings now that he had gotten accustomed to having his wings free to move around again, but Tommy didn’t have much of a choice. The garden wasn’t exactly what one would call walled-off, and anybody could see him from there.

Tommy sadly did the silver clasp around his neck and arranged the cloak so that his wings were properly hidden.

Schlatt frowned. “We’ve got to find a better way to hide those wings,” he muttered, “Especially in the summer like this.”

Tommy shrugged. Had he done something wrong? Did Schlatt not want him to wear the cloak? But he had to wear the cloak, it was his only protection against strangers…

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Schlatt looked startled, and he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said, “I’ll figure something out. It’s not like it’s your fault.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he wasn’t sure what to make of most things Schlatt said.

“Oh,” he said lamely.

Tubbo peeked his head back inside. “Tommy?” he asked, sounding nervous, “Are you coming?”

Tommy jumped slightly, his wings flapping a tiny bit underneath his cloak. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Schlatt gave him another smile and nodded, as if he were giving Tommy permission to go outside. For some reason, Tommy relaxed and followed Tubbo out the door.

Schlatt sighed, sinking into his chair.

On the bright side, Tommy hadn’t left yet, which gave Schlatt hope that Tommy might chose not to leave today.

On the darker side of things, this kid had so many layers of trauma that even the kid _himself_ didn’t realize it.

The whole preening situation had been horrific. The fact that whoever raised Tommy had conditioned him into believing that he only got preened after he killed someone, that that was part of the _process,_ was disgusting, almost the stuff of nightmares.

Schlatt really wished he could find Tommy’s guardian and give him a few pieces of his mind.

Loud knocking suddenly emerged from the front door, and Schlatt jumped, his wings flaring out in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors today. Was it Tommy’s father? Had he come for him?

Schlatt sighed, massaging his racing heart. He was being ridiculous. Tommy’s father would probably be knocking _much_ more violently than the simple rapping on the door.

Schlatt walked to the front door and opened it slowly. He relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Hey, Schlatt,” Puffy said, her white wings looking tense, “How have you been?”

Schlatt sighed. “You know, I’ve had an interesting couple of days. Do you want to come inside?”

Puffy smiled, but it looked strained. “Yeah. Is Tubbo in?”

Schlatt shook his head, opening the door so that Puffy could step fully inside the house. “Nah, he’s playing out in his garden.”

Puffy nodded. “Good, that’s good,” she muttered, “Probably for the best with what I’m about to tell you.”

Well, that didn’t sound particularly good. While Puffy knew how to be serious when she needed to be, she wasn’t particularly one to actually _go_ to Schlatt’s house to tell him something. Normally, she found that she could wait for Schlatt’s visits to _her._

Oh yeah, Puffy was Schlatt’s therapist, if that was worth mentioning. Apparently, years of child abuse, and then years of alcohol abuse, followed by taking care of an infant starting at age sixteen wasn’t actually good for the psyche.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Schlatt offered as they walked into the living room, “Do you want some coffee? I have some leftover from this morning.”

Puffy shook her head, sinking into the couch cushions. “I just want to get this over with,” she admitted.

Schlatt nodded, sitting down in a nearby chair. “Okay,” he said, “What do you want to tell me?”

Puffy sighed, looking Schlatt straight in the eyes. “Dream’s been sighted nearby.”

Yeah, it was a really good thing that Schlatt wasn’t holding a mug of coffee, because he would’ve dropped it and caused the liquid to pour all over his rug.

As it was, Schlatt felt every muscle inside his body tense, and his feathers puffed up.

 _“What?”_ he demanded, “How do you know? When was this?”

“Yesterday,” Puffy admitted, “According to some travelers, he’s been going from town to town, apparently searching for something.”

“Are we _sure_ it was Dream, though?” Schlatt asked, holding onto the slightest chance that the most dangerous man on the continent was _not_ near his home, “Are we sure it just wasn’t some dude that happened to look like him?”

Puffy’s lips formed a thin line. “Their descriptions really leave no room for doubt,” she said, “I mean, who else would be stupid enough to wear a smiley-face mask with neon-green wings?”

Schlatt hated that she was right. Nobody would be that stupid, unless they were intentionally trying to cause trouble.

“How close was he?” Schlatt asked, massaging his nose.

“A couple towns over,” Puffy said, “But he’s definitely heading in our direction.”

“And do you have any idea what he’s looking for?”

Puffy leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “Actually, apparently it’s not a _what.”_ She shut her eyes tightly. “It’s _who.”_

Schlatt swore.

“What poor soul is being chased down by _Dream_?” Schlatt demanded, “Who does Dream want badly enough that he’s _showing_ himself out in the open?”

Dream was kind of known for sowing the seeds of doubt and chaos, but typically he showed his face in two towns for about one second so that rumors and doubt could spread throughout the kingdom like a wildfire. Rarely did he have consistent appearances with an obvious goal like this.

“From what I’ve heard,” Puffy said, “He’s looking for a kid.”

Schlatt’s mind instantly went to Tubbo. Then it went to Tommy.

“Yeah?” he asked, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice, “Any reason for that?”

“Dream’s not exactly nearby,” Puffy scoffed, “I can’t exactly use my magic on him here and now to figure out his motivations.”

Schlatt nodded. “Fair enough,” he sighed, leaning down and massaging the bridge of his nose, “But what I mean is if there’s any reason we think he’s looking for a child?”

Schlatt knew he was in denial; that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to hold onto every small glimmer of hope that this all was a huge misunderstanding.

“Other than the fact that he was openly asking for one?” Puffy asked, raising her eyebrows, “He nearly killed a family.”

Schlatt jumped. “He _what?”_ he asked, his wings stretching out to their full span, nearly knocking a lamp off of the table, “You didn’t think to mention that sooner?”

“I was going to lead up to it,” Puffy said calmly, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard; everyone else in town knows.”

Schlatt forced himself to calm down, folding his wings again as he sat back down. “I’ve been somewhat preoccupied,” he admitted, “But that’s not the point. Tell me more about nearly killing a family business.”

“Apparently, Dream’s not looking for any child,” Puffy said, “He’s looking for a black-born.”

 _Prime,_ no.

It all made sense now. It _all_ made sense.

The reason Tommy was conditioned to kill. The reason Tommy was so afraid of being hurt. The reason Tommy couldn’t even speak his father’s _name._

Schlatt wasn’t breathing. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Puffy asked, looking at him with concern.

“I’m fine.” Schlatt ran his fingers through his hair. “Just… keep going with the… _killing_ family thing.”

“ _Nearly_ killing,” Puffy corrected with a grimace, “He nearly killed them because he thought he was housing the child. When he realized that they had kicked him out instead, he slightly maimed them.”

“ _Prime,_ Puffy,” Schlatt moaned, “That’s barely any better. What am I supposed to do?”

If he kicked Tommy out now, Tubbo would be hurt. If he kept Tommy, Tubbo would be killed. The only alternative was to hand Tommy straight over to Dream, and that was unthinkable.

“I think you’re safe,” Puffy said calmly, “He hasn’t been bothering anyone who hasn’t been involved. So, unless you’ve taken in any black-born children, then I think… Schlatt, what are you doing?”

Schlatt had gotten to his feet, pacing slightly frantically. There was only one other option, only one other thing he could do.

“I need to go the capital,” he muttered, “We need to go to the capital.”

Puffy stood up, raising her hands calmly. “Schlatt… what’s running through your mind right now?”

“Tubbo,” Schlatt admitted, “ _Prime,_ Tubbo… and Tommy, that poor kid…”

“Tommy?” Puffy asked, “Schlatt, who’s Tommy?”

Schlatt laughed humorlessly. “Guess.”

Puffy’s face was one of pure horror. “You _didn’t_ —”

“Of course, I did,” Schlatt said, “What would you have done, if your son brings home his first friend in years? And prime, he’s so traumatized, Puffy; Dream screwed him _up._ I was going to send him to you at some point down the line. _”_

To Schlatt’s relief, Puffy nodded. “Okay,” she said, “Has anyone seen his wings?”

“Only me and Tubbo.”

“Then if you two leave, nobody can point fingers at you,” Puffy said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “I’d ask you if you were sure about this, but you really don’t have much of a choice.”

Schlatt laughed with mild hysteria. He had left the capital to keep Tubbo safe. Now he was returning for the exact same reason.

“People have probably forgotten about me by now,” Schlatt said, “And Tubbo’s much harder to kidnap. We won’t draw attention to ourselves. It should be fine.”

“Okay,” Puffy said, “Do you need help packing?”

“That would be great.”

Tommy watched as Tubbo stopped over a weed, frowning at it fiercely.

“These weeds keep coming back up,” he moaned, “They won’t leave my beautiful garden in peace.”

Tommy sniggered a little bit. “I thought you liked plants.”

Tubbo crossed his arms, his wings bristling. “I like plants,” he said, “I do not like weeds. They try to ruin my other plants.”

“Well, what’s the difference?” Tommy asked, peering at the weeds, “They’re all plants, aren’t they?”

“The difference, my dear Tommy,” Tubbo said, making his voice sound fancy, “Is that _weeds_ were not invited to this garden. I invited the flowers and vegetables. I did not invite these _weeds.”_

For some strange reason, Tommy was finding himself fascinated by this aspect of gardening. He poked at the weed’s green stalk.

“So… what do you do then?”

“Well, you pull them out,” Tubbo said simply, “But sometimes they grow back anyway because the root didn’t get pulled all the way out.”

Tommy watched in fascination as Tubbo pulled the weed out, showing Tommy the little roots that came with it.

“Also, pulling weeds can be a bit of a pain,” Tubbo admitted.

“I can, uh.” Tommy swallowed nervously, fiddling with the edge of his cloak. “I can help, if you’d like.”

Tubbo brightened almost instantly, and Tommy knew he had said the right thing.

“That would be awesome,” he said, jumping to his feet, “Let me go grab a bucket for us to put the weeds in.”

Tommy nodded, opting to sit and silently wait for Tubbo to return. While he was sure he probably _could_ pull the weeds on his own, he’d prefer not to risk choosing the wrong plant or anything like that.

Tubbo returned soon enough, holding the bucket. “Come on,” he said eagerly, “I’ll show you which ones we can dig up, and then maybe we can be done before lunch!”

After seeing how many small little plants Tubbo wanted him to help pull up, Tommy thought that ‘before lunch’ might be a bit of an optimistic estimate.

Still, Tommy was nothing if not determined, and he poured himself into his work, pulling out as many weeds as he laid eyes on. And, funnily enough, they _were_ done before lunch.

So now they were lying on the ground, surrounded by colorful flowers and buzzing bees, staring up at the moving clouds.

“That one looks a little like a rabbit,” Tubbo said excitedly, pointing up to the sky.

Tommy peered up at that cloud. In all honesty, he only had the vaguest idea of what a rabbit even was, but he trusted that Tubbo knew what he was talking about.

“That one looks like a sword.” Tommy pointed to the sword shaped cloud above them.

“Oh, I can see that,” Tubbo remarked, “I would’ve called it a walking cane though.”

If Tommy had to guess, he’d say that a walking cane was a cane for walking.

“You’re a good friend, Tommy,” Tubbo admitted suddenly, his voice quiet, “I just wanted you to know that.”

Tommy’s insides felt warm, and he grinned nervously. “Where’d that come from?”

Tubbo shrugged. “Well, you’re leaving today, and while I obviously don’t want you to; I didn’t want you to leave without me telling you that.”

Tommy’s heart plummeted.

He had forgotten that he had planned on leaving. After the preening and the lessons and the eggs, it had completely left his mind.

Did Tommy even want to leave?

Tommy shook himself immediately. It didn’t matter if he _wanted_ it. His father was coming; Tommy couldn’t let Tubbo get hurt.

Besides, Tommy was a murderer. Tommy wasn’t quite sure Tubbo had properly understood that yet, properly understood how damn dangerous Tommy could be.

But he didn’t want to leave. Tommy liked it here, where Schlatt was kind and the food was good and Tommy could play in the garden. And he had only been here for an evening and the morning.

This was bad. Tommy was getting attached. Tommy couldn’t afford to get attached, not with his father searching for him like this. He needed to _leave._

And Tommy had a feeling that if he didn’t leave right this very second, he might never bring himself to go at all.

He didn’t want to do this.

“Actually…” Tommy said slowly, sitting up, “I should probably get going now.”

Tubbo looked crestfallen as he sat up as well, and Tommy curled in himself. “I don’t…it’s not… I _do_ like you,” he tried to explain, “I just… I’m not safe.”

“I don’t care about your wings,” Tubbo said fiercely, “You haven’t hurt anyone.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, but it felt more like a sob. “Yeah, uh, that’s not true.”

“Fine,” Tubbo conceded, “But you haven’t hurt _me_ or my dad once.”

“ _Tubbo_ ,” Tommy pleaded, “Please. I don’t want to cause you to be hurt.”

Tubbo sagged, sighing. “Fine,” he said, “But you’d better visit.”

Tommy smiled, pulling himself to his feet. “I will.”

And then he _ran._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am back with a new chapter. 
> 
> Wilbur will hopefully return in the next chapter, so that will be fun. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading, and please be nice in the comments! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Ask me stuff on [Tumblr](https://mollypollykinz.tumblr.com/) and [Discord](https://discord.gg/nGgu5CdRT9). <3


End file.
